


in our dreams we can be complete

by ect0blade



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF) - Freeform, Dream Smp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Major Dream SMP Spoilers, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, spoilers up to jan 20th streams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28888800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ect0blade/pseuds/ect0blade
Summary: "Dream," the figure says, voice soft and warm and oh-so-familiar. "Dream, it's me.""Stop," Dream says, and this time he's begging. "Please, please just fucking stop."(or, the one where a certain someone is in prison and a certain someone else risks his life to get him out, but the someone in jail thinks it’s all just another nightmare)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 276





	in our dreams we can be complete

**Author's Note:**

> helllooooo I speedran this after today’s streams so please excuse it being a bit of a mess, I’m emotional. also this is the first fic I've ever posted here, and my first dnf fic ever, so I hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> btw, I’m taking a lot of creative liberties with game mechanics and plot here — a bit more about this in the end notes if you’re interested, but otherwise just go w/ it.
> 
> title from “One Day, Robots Will Cry” by Cobra Starship which is an actual bop, highly recommend for dsmp!dnf feels.

When it happened the first time, he was foolish enough to believe it was real. Something that looked like George showed up at the door to his cell, and Dream spent what felt like hours on his knees begging — pleading for him to listen, to hear him say he was sorry, to maybe just _try_ to forgive him.

Of course, George didn’t forgive him, he didn’t even move, and at some point, he opened his eyes and George was just gone.

The next night George wasn’t so generous. That night, he roved around the cell and screamed, calling him “traitor” and “evil” and all those things that Dream already knew to be true. At first, Dream tried to argue, to explain himself, but after a while it became clear that George wasn’t there to listen to him, and hey, maybe he deserved that, so instead, he sat down on the floor and listened. This time when George disappeared, he cried himself to sleep.

The third night — and the fourth, and the fifth — he let George do the talking. It wasn’t like anything George was saying was false, so even when it hurt, he just tucked that feeling away in his chest for later.

The sixth night was when everything changed. He’d already seen George once that night (when George took to calling him _the worst thing that ever happened to him, to Sapnap, to anyone on this fucking server_ ) and he’s halfway to outright sobbing when George appears again.

"Please, no," Dream says, wrenching his eyes closed at the sudden source of light. "You already — not again, please."

"Dream," the figure says, voice soft and warm and oh-so-familiar. "Dream, it's me."

"Stop," Dream says, and this time he's begging. "Please, please just fucking stop."

The figure pauses for a long moment, enough that Dream almost fools himself into thinking it actually left. But then, as sure as before, it asks, "Stop what?"

"You know what," Dream spits out. "Stop bringing _him_ into this, stop doing it again, when you _know_ , you fucking _know_ that you’re just hurting yourself more —"

"Dream," the voice says again, and it sounds so near to real that Dream’s knees nearly give out. "Dream, I need you to look at me."

Dream shakes his head, forcibly. "I can’t do this right now. Not again."

And then something new happens. A hand lands on his cheek, cupping his face. "Dream," the voice says again, and Dream chokes down what would otherwise be a sob.

"Please stop," is all he can manage as the hand guides him forward, forcing him to stumble into — into —

"It's me, Dream," the voice says again, and this time Dream can feel the chest against his ear move in time with his voice — because that's what he's pressed against now, someone's chest, someone's hoodie, someone's, someone’s — not just _someone_. He'd know this hoodie anywhere, the faint scent of flowers and pine, the gentle hand pressed against his cheek.

"George?" Dream finally whispers.

He can feel George nodding above him, and the hand that was on his cheek moves to the back of his neck. "It's me, Dream. I'm here."

Dream doesn't dare open his eyes. Clearly he's dreaming again, but his subconscious mind must be taking pity on him, because this time, George isn't angry at him, he isn't screaming and yelling. Instead, George is holding him, talking to him with that soft voice, and he'll be damned if he lets this moment — this one actual bearable moment — pass unmarked.

"George," he whispers again, letting himself hug George back. When he sinks his fingers into the material of George’s hoodie, it feels indistinguishable from the real thing.

“Hey, Dream,” George whispers back, pulling him in closer, and Dream lets himself shuffle another two steps forward. “It’s me, I’m here.”

Dream just nods and tilts his head so it lays against George’s shoulder. George’s skin is warm where it peeks out from beneath his collar, and Dream doesn’t even resist the urge to nuzzle his face in closer.

“I came to get you out,” George says, and Dream just shakes his head. “Dream, I’m serious, I’m here —”

“It’s okay, George,” Dream murmurs, squeezing him in his arms. “Just stay, as long as you can.”

George tries to push him back, but Dream holds him tight. “Dream, I can’t — I’m getting you out of here. I don’t have long before —”

“It’s okay, George,” Dream whispers, nearly chuckling. “It’s _okay_. Just be here, please.”

“We have to go,” George says, voice rising. “Dream, they’re going to deactivate my stasis chamber in a few minutes, I have to get you out of here. I brought a —”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Dream says, smiling against the fabric. “It’s okay, George.”

“Dream, you’re not listening,” George huffs, his voice starting to take on a firmer tone. “Dream, I’m not pretending, I’m getting you out of here.”

Dream finally pulls back, just enough so that he can look George in the eyes. And yeah, he does look real — he does have that same bold, defiant spark in his eyes that Dream knows so well, but Dream’s no fool. He knows what this is.

“I’m getting you out of here,” George repeats, taking Dream’s hand and laying it over his chest. Under the hoodie, what feels like George’s heart is pounding. “Dream, it’s me.”

Dream lets out a sigh, spreading his fingers across George’s sternum. He knows that, if he actually humors this, if he actually lets himself play along, even for a few moments, it will absolutely hurt more when it’s over — but maybe that would be worth it for a few more minutes of George’s gentle gaze and the soft tone of his voice.

“Dream, please, I need you to work with me,” George says, desperate eyes roving over Dream’s face. His hand tightens around Dream’s wrist, pulling him closer. “ _Please_ let me help you.”

George’s voice cracks on “please,” and that’s what finally breaks him. Because even if this isn’t really George, if this is what George needs — _well, fuck_.

Dream nods. “Tell me what to do.”

Something near a smile flickers across George’s face, but a moment later it’s gone, replaced with his eyes narrowed in focus. He steps back from their embrace — Dream barely keeps himself from complaining aloud — and starts to shuffle through his inventory. “I brought you pearls,” he says, and one appears in his hand.

“George, you know I can’t just —”

“Just wait, Dream —” George shifts the pearl to his off-hand and pulls out a water bucket with his right — “Drop it in here, the water will keep it from going off, and when I get pulled back, I’ll drop it and it’ll pull you out.”

A little bit of warmth blooms in Dream’s chest, and he can’t hide the smile tugs at the corner of his lips. That’s exactly what George would do if this were really him. “It’s a good plan, George,” he murmurs.

George presses the pearl forward into Dream’s hand, and it feels more real than expected, cool against the palm of his hand. “Okay, then come on. Here —” he holds out the bucket in his hands, careful to keep the base parallel to the ground. “Just be careful that it doesn’t hit the bottom or the sides. I have more pearls, but —”

“It’s okay, George,” Dream says, because it is. It’s not like the pearl’s real, or like it’s actually going to bring him anywhere, but George still has that desperate look in his eyes, so he makes a show of lining up his hand over the center of the bucket. “Hey, look at me.”

George meets his eyes and blurts, “Dream, you have to hurry.”

The more George looks at him, the more the tiny bit of warmth in Dream’s chest takes over the rest of his body. If only he could just get him to stay a little bit longer, he thinks, maybe he could memorize the feeling and keep it forever — or, at least, for the rest of his miserable life in this pit.

“Dream, _please_ ,” George says, voice desperate. “Just —”

“Thank you, George,” Dream says. This time he doesn’t try to restrain the smile. “Thank you, for everything. It’s going to be okay, alright?”

And with that, he drops the pearl. It bobs dangerously close to the base of the bucket, but misses it, and floats back to settle on the surface of the water.

They both look up at the same time, and Dream revels in one last moment of George’s eyes on him.

“I’ll see you in a few seconds,” George says, and he sounds so sure of it that, for just a moment, Dream almost believes him. “Dream, I —”

“It’s okay, Geor —” Dream trails off when George, with nothing more than a blink, disappears.

Dream lets out a heavy sigh, and begins the slow trek back to the corner of the room. Of course, knowing that it was all a dream doesn’t make it any easier, but he knew that from the start. At least he still has that warm feeling in his fingertips from George’s eyes on his, and he can still imagine the scent of flowers and pine fresh in the stale prison air.

He goes to lower himself down against the wall — if he’s going to cry, he may as well be comfortable doing it — but when he hits the ground, it’s not obsidian blocks beneath him.

He’s sitting in — he’s surrounded by —

“Dream?”

He’s sitting in grass. Real, actual grass, with flowers poking up through the blades and oak trees towering above. And the voice he’s hearing is —

“George?”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this is so short I'm tipsy watching karl's stream and just had to share a feels dump.
> 
> please ignore the fact that the pearl escape plan wouldn’t work like this in actual minecraft, we’re taking creative liberties for the sake of my emotional health today.
> 
> I might write a second chapter to this covering their conversation after with actual fluffy/comforting stuff and maybe smooches? idk but if that’s a thing you’d like to read lmk.


End file.
